Closer To The Edge
by Mizzy681
Summary: Mike knows he should stay away from Chris. He knows Adam will kill him for it and he knows he can't trust himself yet. But Chris invites him to a Fozzy-concert and saying no is not that easy.  'LIFE AFTER YOU'-SERIES part 3.


**A/N:**

**Another part of my Mike/Adam/Chris series that I decided to call 'Life After You'. This one is about Mike and Chris and takes place a few weeks after 'It's more than I dared to think about'. I think (but am not sure) that I've come to the point that it's impossible to really understand without having read "Let it snow" and 'It's more than I dare to think about'. And I'd like to add that I'm not proud on this one. But I have no idea how to change it and it's essential for the story, so I'll let my readers be my judge.**

** By the way, for those of you who are following this series and wonder about the relationship between Mike and Chris before Chris left, I wanted to write another oneshot about them, but after rereading some of my older stuff, I realized that "Behind those eyes" fits this series perfectly. So from now on that is the prequel to the "Life After You-series". **

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed my stories lately and major thanks to 'soul of a fire dragon' for sorting out my grammar!**

**I don't feel like rambling today, so on with the fic. I hope you all e****njoy it and please take a few minutes to leave a review. BTW if you (like me) think this sucks, please lemme know what makes it suck so I might be able to change it.**

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* * *

Closer To The Edge**

Mike was still lying in his bed, spread out like a starfish. He tried to remember the last time he had a day off and he couldn't. With a pleased moan he stretched out even more, while he tried to figure out what to do with all this time.

His phone beeped. He reached out to get it, but his fingers just graced it and the stupid thing fell to the floor. For a moment he thought about leaving it there, cursing whoever dared to interrupt his day off. It was probably only Adam anyway with some sort of dirty message. Groaning he rolled over and retrieved his phone from the ground. He swallowed nervously when he saw who the message was from.

Chris hadn't contacted him since he showed up at his house. Mike had been telling himself that was a good thing. Adam was enough trouble to handle as it was. Seeing Chris again had reminded him how much easier things with him had been. There had been no strings attached. Chris never dug deeper than Mike allowed him to see. He had always allowed him to hide his true feelings, and never seemed to mind when Mike avoided his questions, or when he stopped a conversation the moment it became too personal, when Chris came too close. They had put on the act of it being a casual affair, of them being nothing more than friends-with-benefits and neither of them had said anything when the other let something slip that betrayed it had become much more than that.

He hesitated, phone dangling from his fingers, and knew that the smart thing to do was to delete the message without even reading it. Then again, being sensible had never really been his thing. So he opened the message, cursing his racing heart.

_'Mickey, in case you forgot we're playing in the Whiskey tonight. Hope to see you there? Just as friends… Chris.'_

Just as friends, yeah right; not when he called him Mickey. He shouldn't go. He wouldn't go. Or…? No! It was a bad, bad idea. Only, he missed hanging out with Chris, he missed the easy friendship they shared even before becoming lovers, he missed his mentor. The fact that he wanted to see Chris had nothing to do with how he felt — had felt — about him. It was a public place, probably packed with press and fans, what was the worst thing that could happen? If he wanted to hang out at a concert and meet up with an old friend, who could blame him? Adam would. But, well… Adam just had to get used to the fact Mike wasn't his possession. He was a free man and could do anything he wanted. Who knew what Adam was up to himself anyway? It wasn't like they had a relationship or anything.

So he pondered and he hesitated and he thought some more, at one point even considering calling Evan for advise before he remembered that his best friend had no idea about him and Adam and that he had every intention on keeping it that way. At this point he was getting tired of himself. So he went for a jog. When he came back he had a new message.

_'You're not ignoring me, right? Or is Adam forbidding you to answer? You can bring him if he won't release you from his leash.'_

This time it didn't take him quite so long to come up with an answer. '_Fuck yo__u!' _was all that he typed. That was it, he wasn't going tonight. And he would call John. Maybe he felt like clubbing tonight. While he was looking for his friend's number, the phone started ringing, and without even checking who was calling he answered.

The amused chuckle from the other end of the phone had had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up straight. "Thought that would get your attention. So are you coming?"

"What do you think asshole?" Mike snapped back, doing his very best to ignore the shivers running over his back at the husky sound of Chris' voice.

"I think I'd like it very much if you'd come for me tonight. You know, for old time's sake…. " This was purred, the innuendo in the words too obvious.

"Chris! Quit it." Mike could all too well imagine the grin on the blonde's face.

Chris sighed. "I can't help it, buddy. We had too many dirty phone calls this past year, it's become a habit. But if I promise to behave, will you come tonight?"

Mike still hesitated. Everything in him screamed that this was a bad idea.

"Please? I'll behave. No flirting, no touching, just friends hanging out. I meant it, bring Adam if you want."

"Adam is not here. Fuck… okay, I'm not promising anything, but I'll see if I can make it." He left out the part where he didn't have anything better to do.

"Great!" It was more a pleased purr than anything else. "I'll put you on the guest list."

"Didn't I have a permanent invitation?"

"Definitely… I'll just double check. I can't have you in there with the normal people can I?"

"I'd survive that. I just hate paying for anything if I don't have to," he chuckled, finally relaxing a little.

"So you don't wanna support a poor, struggling musician?"

"Aw, are things that bad for you, Chrissy? You might wanna consider coming back to wrestling. It pays rather well, I've heard. By the way, when will I get a copy of your book?" He leant back on his couch, stretching his legs.

"They sell the things on Amazon. Don't be cheap. But I'll sign it for you. Anyway, you won't be in it. That's reserved for the next book. I'm just not sure how detailed I will be…"

"A book about me? Really? That's so nice of you. I was thinking about hiring someone to write my biography. I wanted to get a real writer, but you will do..."

And just like that they fell back in their easy bantering, simply skipping around all the annoying things they didn't want to talk or think about.

* * *

Seeing Chris on stage always did something to him. From the moment he entered the stage Mike's eyes had been glued to him, taking in every motion, every smile, and every emotion on the blonde's face. He didn't even dance, he just stood there, staring at his rockstar. This wasn't good, this really wasn't good. He knew that the smartest thing to dowould be to get up and leave immediately after the concert, or even better to get up and leave right now. But he couldn't.

He decided against going backstage when the show was over, realizing that going to meet Chris in his locker room when he was still pumped-up from his performance was a very, very bad idea. He didn't trust Chris' promise of keeping his hands to himself, and even more than that he didn't trust himself to do the same. So he bought himself a beer and sat back waiting for Chris to come to him. It gave him the illusion of being in control.

But he needn't have feared. When Chris came out with the rest of his band the atmosphere was nothing but relaxed. They talked about nothing in particular, drank some beer and then some more beer, had fun with the band, interacted with fans. It was all completely innocent. Chris' eyes might have lingered on him every once in a while, that sexy grin on his lips every time their eyes met, his stomach fluttering, but it meant nothing. It was just the memories of what they had shared, the thought of what those lips could do to him, the memory of those eyes so full of lust and satisfaction as he… fuck, not a good thought, think about something else now, come on Mike… stop staring at Chris. He flew to the bathroom, throwing handfuls of water into his face in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

It took at least five minutes before he was ready to go out again. He leant on the washbasin, staring into the broken mirror when he realized how pathetic he was. Here he stood, only 50 feet from a man he had been denying being in love with for months and was now denying to have feelings for once again. Only now things were even more complicated because whether he wanted to think about it or not Chris had dumped him. Well, not exactly dumped him, but decided he had better things to do with his life and simply turned away. That he now seemed to have changed his mind shouldn't matter.

That thing between him and Adam should matter. It did matter. Even if it was just sex, even though it wasn't a relationship and — as far as Mike was concerned — it would never be one, it mattered, because in one way or another Adam was important for him. He didn't want to betray his trust, he didn't want to hurt his feelings and he knew very well that even being here with Chris would piss him off. Anything more happening and Adam would be out of his life for good. No matter how much Copeland annoyed him most of the time, he had to admit that was the last thing he wanted.

But being around Chris was just so… so easy. Crazily enough it felt uncomplicated. Chris had that effect on him, he made him stop thinking. That was not good, not good at all… that's it, he was going home now. He took a big breath to gather his calm, squared his shoulders and stepped out of the bathroom already proud of himself for being so sensible for once. That cool confidence all blew away the moment he locked eyes with Chris who was leaning against the wall opposite to the bathroom. The smile on the blonde's eyes was radiant, eyes so warm Mike couldn't help to smile back, the insecurity engulfing him in full force again. He stood like a deer caught in headlights, trying to find the words he had prepared just a second ago.

In the end, it was Chris who spoke first, "I'm so glad you came tonight, Mickey. I missed hanging out with you."

Mike slowly nodded, "Things aren't the same without you."

"So you miss me too?" The teasing tone in his words made Mike's smile change into a scowl.

He didn't feel like answering. He didn't want Chris to know the truth. Because — even though he spent most of his time denying it — he still missed him. It was a deep, dull ache, ever looming behind everything he did, in a way ruining everything he did. Because it was Chris' smile, the pride in his eyes, that made Mike's accomplishments matter even in his own eyes. All the praising words from everyone around him couldn't compare to how much one simple slap on his shoulder from Chris meant to him.

Chris spoke again, voice tight and almost choked up. "I meant what I said when I came to LA. I miss you. I miss you like hell. I know I made the right choice. What's between us was too deep, too much and it needed to be broken — for you, for me and for my family. The guilt was tearing me apart and I couldn't do it anymore." He was still leaning against the wall, like needed it to keep standing. "But I should've talked to you, I should've been honest, I shouldn't have run away. I wished I said goodbye. I was an idiot and I hope you will forgive me for that."

There were a million things he could've said, a million things he wanted — and at the same time didn't want — Chris to know. He could've said something about how much he hurt when he realized that he wasn't even important enough for Chris to say goodbye to. What it felt like to hear other people talk about it like it was a common knowledge, a joke he was the only one left out of. He could've told Chris about the nights he woke up crying from nightmares he didn't quite remember. Or about the nights he spent drinking until he was raving and screaming at everyone who was stupid enough to come near him. Or about that first night with Adam, that it had been the memory of Chris that drove him into Copeland's arms, and that it had been in his arms that he had gotten the first night of decent sleep since Chris left. That the moments spend with Adam were the only ones that he wasn't hurting like hell, that Adam was the only one that could ever make him stop thinking. Or maybe he should speak about how he would never forgive Chris for what he did to him, not only leaving him, but even more for making him care, for getting Mike to love him and then throwing it back into his face.

But he said nothing of these things; instead he shrugged and with a slight grin on his face, he said, "Sure I forgive you, old man." He cringed under his own words, hating himself for lying since he detested liars more than anything else in the world.

Adam would've never let him get away with it. Adam would've pried and picked and dug until ever last shred of his conscience was out in the open. He found himself wishing that Chris for once wouldn't take his bullshit. Chris narrowed his eyes in a way that was clear he didn't buy a word of it. He opened his mouth to say something back, then he closed it again. Mike shuffled and looked away, uncomfortable under the boring eye contact.

When he looked back towards the blonde, Chris smiled sadly and hesitantly stepped forward. After another few seconds of hesitation he pulled him into a hug. A short while later Mike answered the hug. It felt good to be in Chris' arms again, to be so close, the familiar smell in his nose, his stubble teasing against his neck. It felt so right, it was so wrong and he couldn't let go. He forced the tears that sprung into his eyes away. He refused to cry for Chris.

So when Chris pulled him back into the club he didn't refuse, knowing very well that if he said something he would break. As soon as possible he tried to leave, but somehow he never made it out the door. It wasn't even Chris who dragged him back, it was Rich. It was also Rich who had a bottle of vodka magically appear at their table and who kept filling his glass no matter how hard he protested.

"Don't you wanna be a rockstar Miz? Don't you wanna be a rockstar? Then drink like a rockstar!" That was the only bit of the conversation he would remember later on. It didn't take very long before he sat with a dazed look on his face, slamming back shots whenever someone placed it in front of him, trying to remember how his legs worked. The moment he managed to get up from his seat, he had already forgotten why he was standing, so he sat down again. He had lost all track of time and he pouted sadly when someone pulled him up from his seat.

"Come on Mickey, it's time to go home!"

Squinting with effort he recognized Chris and he pouted even harder. "I dun wanna…. Izzzzzzz drinking…. Izzzzzz fun."

"The fun is over, buddy. The nice people of the club want to go home."

"Not fun!" He tried to sit down again, hugging the empty bottle against his chest. "Wanna party."

"We'll party somewhere else." Chris grinned.

"Okay." Happily he started to walk towards the door, but he slammed face first into a pillar. "Ouch! Stupid… stupid… thing!" He kicked the pillar, crying out again when it hurt his foot and luckily being dragged away before he could kick the thing again. This time Chris had an iron arm wrapped around his waist, protecting him from walking, well limping, into anything else. Under loud protest he was stuffed into a taxi, and when Chris gave Mike's address to the driver he started screaming, "Don't wanna go home! Home's so boring! Wanna go somewhere fun!"

"You're too drunk to get into anywhere remotely fun. Anyway, everything is closed already. It's too late." No matter what, Chris was still grinning. The driver, however, wasn't quite into the joke.

"I DON'T CARE! DUN WANNA GO HOME!"

"My place then?"

Mike happily nodded, getting nauseated by the movement and starting to get a little green.

"He pukes, you pay okay?" the driver snapped.

Mike started giggling at that. "I puke, you pay… I puke, you pay okay. I puke, puke, puke you pay, pay, pay!" he sung. He kept singing that for the entire car ride. The moment the cab stopped he jumped out, skipping towards the entrance of Chris' building, falling flat on his face in the process. Chris picked him up again, half dragging, half carrying him to his apartment, put him into the guest room where he fell on the bed and immediately started snoring.

* * *

An hour later Chris woke up when his bedroom door flew open. He sat up straight in bed, heart hammering in his chest. A dark figure made his way to his bed, dropping things behind him with every step.

"Mike?" he asked softly.

"You left me all alone. It's so cold."

His heart broke with every sad word. He didn't resist when Mike crawled in bed with him, although he knew he should. Mike nestled his freezing back against his chest, moaning contently when Chris molded his body to the younger man's and falling asleep only a few seconds later.

Chris stayed awake for a while longer, listening to the heavy breathing of the young man in his arms. Even though Mike was drunk out of his mind, Chris was grateful that at least for one moment Mike wasn't mad at him. If he wanted warmth and safety Chris would give him that. He had always given him everything he wanted. Even at those moments he knew Mike needed something else than he wanted, Chris had always respected his wishes; he had never crossed a limit that Mike set. He wanted Mike to tell him things out of trust, not because he broke him down. Maybe if he had, things would've been different….

* * *

This is not my ceiling. That was the first thought of his day. Then he fell asleep again. Hours later he cracked his eyes open and he took his time to study the ceiling again. If this was not his ceiling, and that meant this was not his bed. That thought kept hanging somewhere in the emptiness of his pounding head. It didn't do much, it didn't connect with anything, it was simply floating around like one of the many mysteries of life that needed to be solved, like where the socks that got lost in the laundry went to. His head hurt, it hurt a lot. He had the feeling that this had something to do with the mystery of the ceiling. He also realized that thinking made his head hurt even more. Not thinking worked a lot better. So he lay there, the only thoughts drifting around: this is not my ceiling; my head hurts; where do those socks go to? Suddenly a new realization entered his awareness: that is not my hand.

The hand in question was slowly making his way down over his abs to his dick causing yet another thought: that feels good. When the hand started to rub him oh so perfectly, sliding over his quickly growing erection in a way that somehow felt familiar, all thoughts of socks and ceilings fled his mind. Up, down, twist; up, a rub of a thumb over the head, down, twist; up, thumb, down, twist; the whole routine soon emptied his mind. He closed his eyes, soft moans leaving his lips.

The man or woman… a man probably, it was a big hand — the thought of opening his eyes and checking who he was in bed with never entered his mind — shifted so he was between his legs. The hand on his cock stopped it's perfect motion, but before he could even whine in protest, it was replaced by a hot mouth. The hands were now pinning him on the bed, while the mouth started yet another amazing routine, bopping up and down, a tongue swirling around applying just the right amount of pressure, just the perfect amount of suction. A slicked up finger entered his pucker, pushing in and out, slightly brushing against the bundle of nerves, making him trash and burn for more. Soon a second finger entered, scissoring and rubbing his sweet spot and as quickly as the man had started he pulled out again, the mouth on his dick also moved away, a big piece of meat was pressed up against his pucker, causing him to whine in anticipation. The man waited for a few seconds in which Mike finally realized it might be a good idea to find out who exactly was trying to fuck him.

He opened his eyes just at the moment Chris entered him in one fluent motion, even this first stroke hitting his sweet spot dead on, making him wail as the pleasure took control of his limps. 'This can't be' 'this isn't right' two new thoughts that competed for his attention with the pleasure called up by the man repeatedly hitting his prostate. 'It feels right' that was a nagging thought, one that he didn't want to admit to. Hands were wrapped in his hair, intense blue eyes stared down on him, his mouth was taken in a passionate and yet sweet kiss while Chris slowed his pace from fucking to making love. 'Making love' that was not a good thought. 'I missed this' was an even worse one. He tried to push the terrible 'Adam is gonna kill me' away as soon as it reared its ugly head. That wasn't so easy, however. Images of the Adam's face kept flashing before his eyes, and the pangs of guilt distracted him from the sex.

He placed his hands against the man's chest and tried to push him away. "Chris… stop, please… I can't… do this." The words left his mouth between pleased pants, because no matter that his mind wasn't in it anymore, his body still was.

The blue eyes above him darkened in confusion, the beautiful smile fell as he slowed, but never stopped his movements. "Why?"

Involuntary he arched his body into the touch, nerve endings set on fire by the more than pleasurable friction between them. It didn't help to keep his resolve. "I… It's just… not right…" A drawn out moan left his lips when Chris slowly pressed his dick against his prostate and kept pushing, making him burn and making it impossible to think. He trashed, his every movement sending even more lightning bolts through his body. "Fuck Chris… not… fair…"

A bright grin appeared on Chris' face. "I know… now, do you still want me to stop?" He pulled back a little and slammed back against the bundle of nerves, this time pushing against it with even more force. At the same time he wrapped his hand around Mike's straining dick, making him release a string of curses.

"No… harder… you fucking asshole…" He had tears in his eyes from frustration at his lack of resolve, or maybe from the unbelievable waves of pleasure that raced through his body with every snap of the blonde's hips.

"Your wish is my command, Mickey." With those words he set a furious rhythm, brutally driving inside him, hand jerking him off in the same pace, until his entire body was on fire. Just before he came, Chris slowed down again, going torturously slow. The hand on his dick more teasing than anything else, the skin of Chris' hand just ghosting against the velvet skin of the twitching erection. His cock slowly stroking his inner walls, only slightly rubbing against the bundle of fuck until he couldn't hold it anymore. He didn't explode, it was more like flowing over as his entire body filled with extreme pleasure. It seemed to go on for minutes, it seemed like it would never stop. It was as close to torture as pleasure could be. His own voice, his own whimper sounded weird in his ears. All he saw were the blue eyes that were drifting above him, in them seeing the exact time of Chris' release more then he felt it, his body numb and still spasming in a sensory overload.

For a moment he didn't resist the tenderness in Chris' embrace, but only for that moment before his mind started working again. Then he pushed Chris away, furious with himself that he had brought himself into this position, that he had been weak and stupid once again. He looked around for his cloths, not even caring about the mess on his body. He wanted to go home and he wanted that now.

"Mike?"

When he didn't react Chris grabbed his chin between harsh fingers, turning his head towards him to meet his eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Like you don't know," Mike snarled. "I'm sick of you playing games with me."

"It's not a game Mike. It never was a game with you. I…I just love you so fucking much…"

Mike went completely still, eyes big as he stared into almost liquid blue eyes, radiating so much emotion it made him dizzy. These words had never been spoken between them. Mike had no intention to speak them at all — ever. In his eyes they were meaningless; empty words meant for nothing more than manipulation. It was the inheritance of his mother's constant stream of boyfriends, one even worse than the other and his mother's complete devotion to them no matter how badly she was treated. _'But he really loves me…' _had always been an excuse for whatever they did.

Hearing those words leave Chris' lips was even worse, because for the first time in his life he wanted it to be true. He almost jumped back from Chris, hands moving up to roughly push him away, taking shallow breaths to keep the pain locked inside. When he was almost out the door, jeans hastily pulled on and t-shirt still in his hands, Chris blocked his path.

"You're not leaving like this."

"I can leave whenever I want to. You can stop the lies, I'm not gonna be your sex toy anymore."

Chris staggered back like he hit him. "Is that really what you think, Mickey?" Sadness radiated from him. He looked like he ages ten years in a second. "I'm so sorry if I made you think that you mean nothing to me. I can't even explain how important you are to me, I have no words to describe how empty life is without you." He sat back onto the bed, wiping at his eyes. "How can you not know that? What have I done wrong?"

"You left me all alone." It was barely more than a whisper. "It hurt…"

"I had to. You're better off without me."

"Never." He choked the word out, for the first time admitting out loud how much Chris meant to him.

"I couldn't keep doing this to you, Mike. I simply couldn't. I couldn't keep hiding you like some sort of dirty little secret, when all I wanted was to show you off, to treat you right. I thought about it for ages, Mickey. I thought about all other possibilities. I've been on the verge of leaving Jess for you, but I couldn't…"

"Stop explaining Chris." Mike snapped. "I get it already. I don't need to hear why you chose your wife."

"You do need to hear this. I didn't choose my wife. I chose my children. I couldn't put them through a divorce, I couldn't let them live with the stains of daddy leaving for another man. You understand that right? I have to put them before my happiness, I have to put them before you."

For a moment he was a six year old boy again, standing on the stairs with his favorite teddy bear hugged against his chest, tears streaming over his face while his mommy threw his daddy out, his mommy's boyfriend already in the kitchen drinking beer.

He had been angry, furious even with Chris from the moment he walked out on him. Now he understood and the walls of red-hot fury dissolved, leaving behind the pit of hurt and bone-aching loneliness he hadn't even known to be there. Chris had done the right thing, but that didn't keep him from wishing that for once someone would put him before all else.

_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me_

_My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating_

_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me_

_'Til then I walk alone..._

_

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_**So, lemme know: was it awful? Not so bad? Maybe even good? Please review!**


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